Title: Found In The Woods
Rating: T
Pairings: Éomer/Lothíriel
Genre: Romance/Drama
Summary: A chance meeting in the woods of Ithilien results in some rather unexpected consequences.
Disclaimer: The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.
Author's Note: This story is a funny little thing that occurred to me some time ago. I guess I'm still detoxing from all the angst of ALWR, and wanted to write something a bit more light-hearted.
The first chapter will no doubt leave you with some questions, but we will get to the answers soon enough!
I hope you enjoy the story. If you got time, let me know what you think!
Though the matter of the marriage of Éomer King of the Mark came to be because of a few coincidences and a fair amount of accident, one person who could be held accountable for the chain of events was Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth.
That was Éomer's chief impression when all was said and done, although things got into motion before the carefree prince had a chance of getting his sticky fingers all over it; while Éowyn and Faramir's invitation for him to visit them in their new home had him travelling to Ithilien in the first place, it was Amrothos' whim to join the party that utterly changed the result that was to come out of this trip.
He had met Imrahil's youngest son during the march to the Black Gate, and though they were in many things each others' opposites, a friendship had grown between them. Of course, he had high regard for Imrahil's entire family, but unexpected things tended to happen when one was in Amrothos presence for a prolonged period of time and he had found it supremely amusing. Yet at the end of his visit, Éomer was tempted to consider maybe the prince merely acted as a hand of fate this time, if one was to believe there was such a thing.
Éomer and his company had travelled from Edoras at fair speed; the entourage was not a very formal one and he took only his own Guard along, and so they were able to ride faster than if a proper royal escort complete with courtiers, servants and stablemen had accompanied him. He preferred it that way, because even after a year of kingship he was still not used to everything his new position entailed. Not to mention it would probably have taken an entire month just to reach Mundburg.
They had stayed in the White City for a few days as Aragorn's guests. It had been good to see his close friend, even if the older king had gone a bit overboard with his hospitality. Though he knew he could trust his Marshals and advisers, only Aragorn really understood the difficulty in transforming oneself from just another man into a king. But as long as he knew his brother-in-arms had his back, Éomer dared to hope things would be all right in both their kingdoms.
After bidding farewell to Aragorn and Arwen, he and his company headed for Emyn Arnen in Ithilien. They could have taken a ship from the port of Harlond in Mundburg, but the journey wasn't too long and he infinitely preferred riding to sailing. Not to mention, Éowyn had spoken much about how beautiful Ithilien was, and he rather wanted to see it with his own eyes instead of spending long, tedious hours on a ship he didn't entirely trust.
They followed the stream of Anduin down towards Emyn Arnen, letting the river guide them to the dwelling of Prince and Princess of Ithilien. On the way, Éomer's eyes kept reaching for the horizon and anxiously waiting for the moment he'd see his dear sister again. Though he never told her in their letters, he missed her very much, and he had never quite felt as lonely as he had ever since the day she had left the Mark. The two of them were the last that was left of their kin and this reality was hard to bear when she was so far away from Rohan. But her letters were happy and there was contentment about her these days, and that meant more to him than anything else in the world.
On the day things took the bewildering, life-changing turn, Éomer and his company were pressing for their destination, hoping to reach Éowyn and Faramir's home before night came. She had told him the woods were still somewhat unsafe, what with occasional marauding orcs or Southron bands that came harassing the fair woods in the hopes of catching travellers unawares. Faramir was working hard to cleanse the land, but it was not a job one could finish easily or quickly when so little time had passed since the fall of the Dark Lord. Éomer knew his company would be well-equipped to deal with menaces, but he was also eager to see his sister, and horsemen were not as mobile as they would be on open ground. Not to mention, woods offered plenty of spots to set an ambush.
Éomer was already thinking of the moment of their arrival to his sister's new home, of sharing supper with her and Faramir, and then talking away the night until Éowyn would shoo them all to bed. But this pleasant line of thought was interrupted by the hasty arrival of his scout – a man named Folcred, who had been riding in his éored as long as himself. The look of alarm on his face had the young king tensing in his saddle.
"Sire! We are needed immediately!" Folcred exclaimed upon seeing the King's Company.
"What is it?" Éomer barked the question, and in his mind he was already going through several potential situations – worst of them being that Éowyn and Faramir's home was under attack... he knew the idea all too well, and in his mind's eye he saw the fire and the panic of those who couldn't defend themselves against evils of this world...
"There is a small company of travellers not far from here. They have been surrounded by orcs!" Folcred replied quickly, and though the situation was probably quite dire for the said travellers, Éomer already felt himself relaxing somewhat.
"How many orcs did you see?" he asked the scout.
"I counted twenty, but there may be more", Folcred answered, and now the King of the Mark was relieved. His company of thirty Knights would take care of the orcs quickly, as long as they got there in time. Upon his departure from Edoras, he had thought such number of Riders a bit extreme, but his advisers had been adamant. As long as the Riddermark had no heir, Éomer would have to endure the King's Guard following his every move whenever he left the capital of his realm. But as it turned out, now he was merely glad for having so many capable men at his disposal.
"Show us the way", he commanded, and with that the King and his Riders hastened ahead again.
They rode as fast as they dared on the uneven forest ground; they would not be of any help to the travellers in peril if their horses broke their legs while racing through the woods. But like Folcred had said, they were not far, and soon enough Éomer could hear the shouting and clashing of steel – all too familiar to him after so many years of war. As he lead his company closer and closer to the site of battle, he loosened his light rider's bow in its saddle sheath, and then tested the swing of his arm and the spear with a careful little motion, readying it for the moment he'd spot his target.
Sunset was at hand when they came to where the travelling company was under attack. Usually, orcs did not make an appearance while there was any daylight left, but he had seen them changing this habit after the fall of the Dark Lord. Driven to the wild and stripped of their earlier might, famished orcs even dared the daytime if it meant they could capture prey and supplies. His men roused their voices into their battle-cries, and the band of orcs shrieked their own horrid words as an answer. Some tried to flee, but others turned on the Riders – an unwise decision, as was shown by their charge. Not wanting to harm any of the travellers, Éomer did not throw his spear, but rather used it to stake down one particularly large orc. The next he took down with his bow, shooting an arrow through its neck, and only after the shaft had leaped from the string did he notice her. He had the barest moment to see the orc collapsing on the top of what looked to be a woman, and both she and the orc went down. The young king cursed under his breath, hoping his arrow had not caused her demise. With her dark cloak, he had not seen her before it was too late.
The orcs were finished soon enough. Like he had expected, they were not much of a challenge to his men, and instead of shouting and fighting, the site filled with cries of the wounded. Meanwhile, Éomer sent some of his Riders to search the woods about them, in case any orcs had got away. Others he ordered to search and help the wounded among the corpses of orcs and horses.
Then came a shout: "Éomer! Sweet Elbereth! I have never been happier to see your face!"
The young king turned and saw Prince Amrothos, grinning in relief and waving his hand in greeting. As always, Imrahil's son was arrayed in the blue and silver of his home, and his longish hair was tousled about his face. Where Elphir and Erchirion possessed their father's dignity, Amrothos seemed too preoccupied with his carefree pursuits to really try and appear like a lord of a high line of Westernesse.
"You're lucky we happened to be close by, Amrothos", Éomer answered as he slid down from his saddle. He couldn't really feel any joy for the ending of the battle, because all he could think of was the shape of the woman as she fell to the ground... where was she? Had he got her killed, too? Béma, to think he may have caused the death of an innocent...!
He glanced at the prince, "What are you even doing here?"
"Same as you, I think. I heard from Faramir they were expecting you to visit, and so we thought to join the party – one sees you so rarely these days..." Amrothos babbled on, as was his manner. Usually, it was mostly amusing to Éomer, but now he was getting far more information than he had time for. Even then, one bit about it struck his notice.
"We? Are your brothers here, too?" he asked, scanning the shadowy area for other two princes, but didn't see them. A cold lance went through his heart: had Elphir and Erchirion fallen?
"No, not at all. I was travelling with my sister. Now where is that girl?" Amrothos answered, and Éomer could see the first dawning of dread on the young man's face. The prince began to trudge through the scene of battle, calling the name of his sister, "Lothíriel! Lothíriel, where are you? I swear, if you don't answer me this second -"
The King of the Mark was already running. making for where he had seen her fall. It couldn't be! Had he got Imrahil's only daughter killed? Panic thrummed in time with his heart; he remembered her face, her long dark hair, the soft grace of her movement, just as he had first seen her in Mundburg after the war... he couldn't say much about her character as they hadn't talked much, but he recalled she had kind, warm eyes. And he did know Imrahil and his sons loved her dearly, and if she died...
He saw the orc's carcass at last and yanked it away hard, uncovering the smaller body underneath. Her eyes, grey and bright, were wide and staring and there was orc blood on her face. She was making a soft, whimpering sound – she was alive – but she remained motionless even as he rolled the corpse away, thus releasing her.
Éomer lowered himself on one knee next to her, searching for her hand in the darkness, and finding it clammy and shaking. At once, he realised she was in shock.
"My lady, are you hurt?" he asked her as gently as he could. But she didn't respond, and he touched her cheek gently with his free hand. "Shh, it's all right. The battle is over. You are safe now."
To his relief, he didn't find any blood that could be hers – there was only thick, dark orc blood staining her face and riding gown. He spoke soft, gentle nonsense, mostly in his own tongue. It seemed to have the hoped effect as she eventually blinked and the staring expression left her eyes. She blinked again and looked at him as though she only now saw him there. The princess tried to sit up, but Éomer pushed her back carefully, as to not frighten her.
"It's all right. Just take your time. There is no hurry", he reassured her and gave her hand a gentle little squeeze. Her own fingers curled about his tightly, as though she was terrified of the mere idea of letting go.
It was then Amrothos arrived, stumbling through the site of battle and more or less falling on his knees next to his sister.
"Lothíriel! Thank Elbereth! I already thought you had got hurt!" he exclaimed and reached for her free hand, but the young woman let out a yowl of pain. Hearing this sound, Amrothos flinched back.
"What is it, sister?" he asked in alarm.
"My hand hurts", she answered in a thin, weak voice as she pressed her left forearm against her chest.
"Is it broken?" Éomer asked as he helped her to sit up; he kept his hand close to her back, as he was not yet certain she would be fine.
"I... I don't know. It hurts", she mumbled and he could feel her shivering. They really needed to get her to shelter – poor thing was out of her mind with terror. He had seen such reaction before and knew it could get bad if it wasn't treated properly.
"She is in shock. We need to get her somewhere safe and warm", Éomer said firmly as he got up on his feet and carefully lifted her from the ground. He considered she was tougher than one might have guessed – she stood on her own two feet and didn't seem to need Amrothos' support as much as he was offering it.
"I'm fine", the princess put in, though she was still pale and unwell.
"Faramir and Éowyn's home is not far from here. Can you take my sister there?" Amrothos asked, eyeing his sibling in concern.
"Of course. I already sent my scout to alarm Faramir. His Rangers will soon be searching the woods in case there are more orcs. And I shall leave some of my own men here´", Éomer answered, looking for Firefoot with his eyes. The sooner he got the princess to the safety of Faramir and Éowyn's house, the better.
Éothain must have been close by and known what his king wanted, as he came leading Firefoot by reins. The stallion was whinnying and shifting restlessly, and he only grew more anxious when he came closer to the princess. It probably had to do with the orc blood that stained her face and cloak; the war-horses were trained to be sensitive to any smell that hinted of orcs. So, instead of lifting the shivering girl into the saddle, Éomer mounted the stallion himself to calm Firefoot down. The last thing they needed right now was the stallion bolting and throwing her off his back. The weight and the words of his rider had the horse settling down again, and he allowed Amrothos to bring his sister next to him.
Éomer was already making space for the princess behind himself when the two siblings speaking had him halting.
"No, not the back. I don't know if I can hold on. Lift me before the King", she said to her brother. At once he realised what they were about to do. And they had not the barest inkling what it would look like!
"My lady -" Éomer started in alarm. No, they could not, they didn't know -
But Amrothos was focused on his sister, and she was only thinking of getting away from this place. So, before he could protest, Princess Lothíriel was placed directly into his lap.
Oh no.
To be continued.